The Goblin Prince
by FrancesOsgood
Summary: "You treacherous rat," spat Jareth. "You'll banish me and take my father's throne as well as his wife in one fell swoop. It would not surprise me in the least to discover, Uncle, that it was you who poisoned him!" A one-shot origin story with a touch of "Hamlet". My apologies to the Bard. *Inspired by the painting of the same name by soapybubbles3 on DeviantART


**The Goblin Prince**

Jareth looked up as the heavy wooden door swung open and his uncle shuffled into the room. "My father?" he asked the older man.

"I'm sorry," his uncle replied shaking his head. "The arrow was tipped with iron. The High King has succumbed to his wounds." He tried to lay a firm hand on the young prince's bony shoulder, but he shrugged away from his touch and moved to the other side of the room.

Jareth's heart burned in his chest and hot tears burned in the corners of his eyes and he closed them tight to keep them at bay. Later, in his private chambers and away from the cold glare of his Cossack of an uncle, he would allow himself to weep and mourn his father, but not here. He drew in a deep breath and straightened his back. He may be a fatherless son, but he was still a prince and would carry himself as such.

"How is my mother?" he calmly asked his uncle.

The older man turned away and moved toward the glass decanter of brandy on the table near the wall. He poured himself a healthy portion before answering. "She is naturally distraught, but she is being tended."

Jareth nodded solemnly. She was no doubt inconsolable. She adored his father. He would go to his mother later and offer what comfort he could.

The room fell uncomfortably silent for a long moment, the quiet broken only by the crackle of the fire and the clink of the decanter as his uncle helped himself to another glass of brandy.

"I suppose the Council expects me to go before them," Jareth spoke at last.

"Actually, no," his uncle answered, carefully studying the caramel-colored liquid in his glass.

"What?" asked Jareth. "Why not?"

His uncle took another long quaff from his glass and set it aside before turning to face his nephew. "I—I mean, the Council thinks that perhaps you are too young and a bit too reckless to take over your father's throne."

Jareth took a step backward, stunned. "Reckless?" he questioned. "That's nonsense. My father was grooming me to take the throne. He taught me... everything." He paused and ran a hand through his pale hair. "I don't understand. If I'm not going to be High King, then who?"

Jareth's uncle cleared his throat. "The Council has thought it best that _I_ take my brother's place upon the throne.

"You?" cried Jareth incredulously. "What claim do you have to the throne of my father? There was no love between you. What right do you have, you bastard?"

His uncle turned away with a huff. "It's true that your father and I did not always see eye to eye, young Jareth, but he was my brother and I loved him. He always wanted what was best for the Fae realm and I think he would agree with me. You are young. You've never seen battle. Why, have you even had a woman yet?" he half-chuckled.

"That, _Sir_, is between the lady and me," Jareth hissed.

"What lady?" sneered his uncle. "I know the women at Court flock about you, but I seriously doubt you've bedded any of them.

"This is ridiculous!" Jareth fumed. "I will go before the Council. I will state my case-"

"The decision is already made," snapped his uncle, his eyes flashing fire. "There will be no more said about it. Besides, I've not left you out in the cold, boy. You shall be given a kingdom of your own to rule. Preside over it well and if I die the throne of the High King will be yours."

"And what kingdom is that?" Jareth asked, regarding him suspiciously.

"The Goblin Kingdom," his uncle answered flatly.

"The Goblin Kingdom," Jareth gasped. "But that's practically exile!"

"Are you calling into question my generosity?" snarled his kinsman. "I'm giving you a kingdom. You should show more gratitude."

Jareth shook his head in anger and confusion. "Who will care for my mother?"

"I will," replied his uncle. "Our laws dictate that I, as the brother of the deceased, shall take his widow to wife." He smiled pointedly. "She is quite lovely. A jewel among women. I shall happily wed her."

"You treacherous rat," spat Jareth. "You'll banish me and take my father's throne as well as his wife in one fell swoop. It would not surprise me in the least to discover, Uncle, that it was _you_ who poisoned him!"

Jareth's uncle rounded on him before he could respond, icy blue magic pulsing from his meaty fingers to wrap around the young prince's throat. The cold tendrils tightened around the boy's neck, lifting him and crashing him against the stone wall.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, boy," the older man leaned in and growled. "For the sake of your lovely mother I'd watch my tongue."

He released Jareth from the grip of his dark magic and let him crumple against the wall.

"You'll leave for the Goblin Kingdom as soon as your father is in the ground."

"Uncle, please," rasped Jareth, rubbing his bruised throat. "Don't exile me to that forsaken land. There is nothing for me there. This is the only home I've ever known. That land is full of nothing but filth and garbage and creatures no one wants around."

"Yes," sneered the older man as he walked to the door. "You'll be right at home."

Jareth watched him leave, knowing that his fate was decided. He would be forced to the very edges of the Fae realm to live amongst the goblins and dwarves and beasts. The Goblin Kingdom was the home of the lost and despised, a final haven for the outcast with nowhere else to go. The Fae avoided it, rarely going there except when absolutely necessary. It was no wonder his uncle had chosen it. Separated by such a great span, there was little chance of Jareth being able to challenge him, and if he did, there was even less chance of success. No one would come to the aid of the Goblin Kingdom.

Jareth sighed heavily. His reign would be lonely. He would be left off invitations and guest lists. He would neither be entertained nor asked to entertain. He would be forgotten.

"Fine," he whispered to the gloom. "Forget me. But I won't forget this day. I won't forget my father. Some day. Some day..."

* * *

**A/N:**

**This is what happens when I browse DeviantART and then follow it up with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart on YouTube. **

***The cover photo for this fic is "The Goblin Prince" by soapybubbles3 on DeviantART. There is a link to the original on my profile page. Check out this gorgeous piece as well as her other work. It's amazing!**


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